Aftermath(45)

Jesse can see why Chris is so good on the student council. He knows exactly why Jesse canceled, and he’s giving him an easy out. Which only makes Jesse feel like an even bigger jerk.

“I was going to reschedule,” Jesse says. Which is the truth.

“I figured you would. But if you’re done practicing, you might still be able to catch up with her.”

Skye

I’m walking when I get a text.

Jesse: u still around?

Me: following a lead 4 paper

We fire texts back and forth as he tries to figure out where I am. He apparently hoped to un-cancel our meet-up if I was still near school. I tell him I’m pursuing a lead about the fire, a mysterious source who texted wanting to talk off school property. Two seconds later my phone rings.

“Tell me that’s a joke,” Jesse says. “Tell me you are not actually heading to meet someone who anonymously texted. Because you know that would be a trap, right?”

“I know it could be. I also know the text sounds legit. Yes, it’s from a blocked number, but that makes sense if it’s anonymous. The others came from fake numbers.”

“What others?”

I hurry on. “I’ve mapped out the meeting place. It’s a coffee shop, which would make a lousy setting for a trap. Am I supposed to show up and find no one waiting? Waste an hour sitting in a comfy chair, enjoying a caramel latte and free Wi-Fi? Oh, snap, that’ll teach me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I know he’s struggling to come up with a better motive. Finally, he says, “This person could be planning to publicly humiliate you. Call you out. Accuse you of setting the fire.”

“In a coffee shop nearly three miles from RivCol?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“If it really is a lead, and I don’t show up alone —”

“I’ll stay outside. If you need me, I’ll be a text away. If you’re stood up, I’ll come in, get a drink and you’ll tell me what you meant by ‘other texts.’”

I’d already walked a mile when Jesse called. I’m afraid if I wait for him to catch up, I’ll be late for the four o’clock meet time. Silly thought. He runs. When I see him coming, another text arrives, this one from my mystery source.

Hey, Skye. I’m early. Place is packed. New coords coming!

Jesse jogs up in time to see me reading the text. I pass my phone to him. He takes out his and plugs in the new coordinates and…

“No,” he says as the map appears. “Oh, hell, no.”

Skye

We have reached the location described by those final coordinates. Reached them over a tirade of protests from Jesse, and perhaps the closest thing we’ve ever had to an argument. Now we stand on the sidewalk, looking at a massive brown brick building, with every window boarded up. Even the name has been taken down, but it’s a pointless effort. For almost a hundred years those letters hung on the brick, and once they were removed, the impressions remain in dark brick, unbleached by a century of sunlight.

North Hampton High.

“I thought they were going to tear it down,” I say.

“Every year, the city council promises it, and every year, there are excuses. They closed it, and they seem to think that’s enough.”

It’s not enough. It’s like taking those letters off the front. We still see the ghosts.

These are the secondary coordinates my “source” provided, proving I’m not here for a tip on the fire. The coffee shop was a decoy to get me close enough that I wouldn’t be able to resist. Get me close. Get me curious. Lower my defenses and yes, perhaps then I would stand on this spot, see the setting of my nightmares and consider going in.

No, not consider. I am going in.

And Jesse is furious.

He says I’m punishing myself. A dare has been offered that I cannot refuse. He’s right. It’s like those video clips. Even when I knew what they were, I had to watch. To refuse seemed to deny my brother’s crime, deny the victims their due.

I haven’t told Jesse about the video clips. That really wouldn’t help.

He’s furious. Yet he’s here, beside me, as he seethes. Our argument ended with me asking him to watch my back, and admitting that if he refuses, I will not do this. But I want to. I need to see where this is leading.

It’s more than guilt and self-punishment. It’s even more than standing up to a bully. I have been lured here, and either the destination is the message – in which case, it’s been delivered – or my tormenter is inside, waiting for me. This may be my only chance to confront that person, which is why Jesse has stayed.

He isn’t happy about it, but he knows I’m making the choice I need to make, and he won’t stop me, even if all that would take is to walk away and say “I won’t help.”

Jesse is not the boy I remember. Too much has happened for that. But there is good in the changes, too. He stands firmer, more resolute. My old Jesse might have let me do this, but only because he’d be afraid to refuse, unsure of his own opinions. This Jesse tells me I’m making a mistake, and then stands by my side while I make it.

Going in might be pointless. This front entrance could be both the destination and the message. Remember what happened here. Remember those who died. Remember what your brother did.

Yet the exact coordinates lie within. And the front door is open.